Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(2)
So no one was more surprised than she was when her “little pita cart” had turned out to make serious dough—and fast. Dough that had risen and doubled in size, and now this year Emerson had bigger plans. Plans that needed the extra two grand this VFW event would bring her. If catering the occasional kid’s birthday or wearing humiliating costumes meant upgrading her food cart to a twenty-seven-foot custom-designed gourmet food truck with Sub-Zero fridge and freezer, dual fryers, four burners, a Tornado speed-cook oven, and a twelve-thousand-watt diesel generator all wrapped in Pita Peddler Streatery vinyl—then she’d shell up.
Emerson handed out a few more leis, ignoring the goose bumps covering every inch of her bare skin—which was nearly all of her inches. Behind her, the wind picked up, scattering a thin sheet of water over the marble floor of the entry to the dance hall, her leis whipping her in the face. Outside, the late-autumn storm continued to pound the sidewalk, bending the branches of the maples that lined Main Street and rushing down the already full gutters.
No wonder it was so packed inside. With the potted palm trees, pineapple party mugs, and bottomless-mai-tai bar, it was like a tropical paradise in the middle of an arctic typhoon.
Double-checking to make sure all essential body parts were securely tucked in, Emerson took a deep, humbling breath and held up the yellow lei again to Carl. “At least with this you can do some body shots off Ms. Beamon.”
Carl peered through the door at Ida Beamon, owner of the local wine bar Cork’d N Dipped, who was already inside and standing by the bar. Dressed in a blue-and-white-striped sailor’s dress and red flats, she looked like a one-woman USO. She was also wearing a yellow lei. “You think she’s packing tonight?”
“I heard in the ladies’ room that she swapped out her holster for a garter belt and she’s looking to score.” Emerson wiggled the yellow flowers again. “Last chance.”
He looked at the lei and frowned. “Real men wear—”
“Pink, yeah, yeah,” Emerson cut in, then looked at the large group of seniors still waiting to be checked in and sighed. It was only a matter of time before a riot broke out, and if Carl kept yammering on, it would only get worse. She’d seen it happen too many times with her sister’s Lady Bug troop—one bad bug could lead to an angry swarm.
Time to get tough. “You can either take Ms. Beamon on a twirl around the dance floor or have me escort you out. Your choice.”
Carl studied the yellow lei thoroughly, then sized Emerson up, most likely to see if he could take her. She flexed her guns and narrowed her eyes. “Remember when your grandson Colt came home with a busted face senior year? That was me. And I was only a seventh grader.”
She might be small but she was scrappy.
With a resigned sigh, smart man, he gave the lei one last skeptical glare. “If I promise no salt, do I have to wear that?”
“Rules are rules.” Emerson leaned in close—real close. Close enough that Carl could see the seriousness in her eyes, and if that didn’t work, she hoped he’d be too distracted by her coconut shells to argue. And wasn’t that a man for you—one well-calculated breath and his eyes glazed over, his mouth snapped shut, and he stopped yammering. “You got to get lei’d before you can do a body shot, Carl.”
“Not much point in body shots if I can’t salt her up first,” Carl grumbled, but he took the lei anyway, dropping his twenty on the table before hobbling off.
One down, fifty to go, she thought, taking in the still-growing crowd.
“With rules like that, I’m glad I came.” A cocky but oh-so-sexy chuckle came from beside her.
Emerson closed her eyes. It didn’t help. She could still feel the weight of an intense, masculine, and very amused gaze as her whole body instantly heated and—
Oh boy, hummed.
Because it wasn’t just any low, husky chuckle. It was the same panty-melting chuckle from her past that had spurred her every teen fantasy. In her more recent past, say, oh, five months ago, it had whispered wicked promises in her ear.
Promises that took an entire night to fulfill and five months to forget. Not that she’d forgotten. Far from it. But she’d tried.
Never one to run from her past, or anything, for that matter, Emerson opened her eyes and—sweet baby Jesus—the wry amusement and combustible heat in those dark blue pools made her knees go weak. And that pissed Emerson off. More than the wet grass skirt that was bleeding green dye down her legs.
Emerson didn’t do weak, not even for a guy who looked like Captain America, G.I. Joe, and an underwear model all wrapped up in a big, badassed army-of-one package.
Oh, Dax Baudouin wasn’t just insanely handsome. Handsome she could handle. He was also dark, inside and out, and dangerous in that mysterious way that tempted her even when she knew better. His body was massive—everywhere—and today it was soaked. All the way through.
Like he hadn’t bothered to get naked before showering.
His white button-up was wet around the collar and down his chest, the material translucent, clinging to his hard-cut upper body and hinting at the impressive collection of tattoos that were hidden beneath.
Great, now she was thinking about him naked. In her shower. His smirk said he knew it. Just what she needed, a little game of I’ve Seen You Naked to make her already humiliating day that much more so.
Clearly, karma was bitch-slapping her for her one transgression.